The Bacon Only Sticks Twice
by breather17
Summary: What do you get when you cross a throw-pillow, a lesbian vampire and the start of a new romance? It's Will & Grace! This is my first story, so be nice, constructive criticism wanted and appreciated :
1. Chapter 1

Grace woke up, startled, possibly by the buzzing New York noise that was emanating from her slightly open window or, more likely, by Karen lying barely half an inch from her with her eyes wide open

Grace woke up, startled, possibly by the buzzing New York noise that was emanating from her slightly open window or, more likely, by Karen lying barely half an inch from her with her eyes wide open.

"Karen! What the hell??" Grace screamed, bolting upright.

"Grace Adler Designs?" came Karen's weak response, as she slowly regained her senses under Grace's inquisitive glare. "Oh, sorry honey, I thought I was in the wrong bed, what with that freakshow in your wardrobe there. But, you know, LSD is a hell of a drug, and I lost my limo in a dance-off with Candy Bergen on the upper-west side, so, hope you don't mind I stayed!".

Grace almost spoke, but sensing that she would probably never penetrate the 5000-year old fog in Karen's mind, she resigned to simply smiling at Karen and lying back down. At the moment of Grace's relaxation, Karen leaped out of the bed with horror.

"Honey, I only did that once, and that was only because I owed Ellen Degeneres after she covered up that incident with the car-jacking for me!", Karen yelled, as she formed her arms into a cross-shape, as if to ward off some kind of lesbian-friendly vampire. Confused, Grace rose from the bed and proceeded to slowly walk into the kitchen, where Will was standing holding a frying pan in an attack position. As he saw Grace he motioned her to stop, and in one quick motion, smacked the floor repeatedly.

"If you don't like those clogs you bought, the easiest thing is just to take them back, rather than destroying them, Selma High-Kick.", Grace said, raising her eyebrows.

"Look at this saucepan! Not a dent, not even a mark, but when you try and fry bacon in it, this happens!" Will turned the frying pan and pointed to the inside, which on closer inspection appeared to resemble some kind of modern art piece, one of those which is just a black splodge that some "artist" made when they got drunk and tripped over a tin of emulsion, but then pretended had some deep meaning and sold it for thousands of dollars. "Now I remember why I don't buy things from market stalls! Stainless steel my ass!"

"Now now Delilah," said Grace, walking up to Will and hugging him, "It's just a frying pan, no object is that…", Grace trailed off, sudden fear grasping her by the shoulders, like a massage from some woman who you notice has just eaten KFC and not washed her hands ("Yeah, we're out of oil, but hey, I'm all greased up!").

"You mean to tell me, that there is NO BACON, just because you had to buy a cheap-o 20 pan from 'Rust-r-us?? I HATE YOU!". Grace slammed the counter top and adopted an attack posture. Will sighed, put down the pan and looked at Grace, his expression a mixture of shock and expectation, marvelled by Grace's innate ability to flip a conversation around to be about her in a split second. However, before he could reply, Karen stumbled into the room, lipstick smeared all over her face and clothes all buttoned up incorrectly.

"Woah yeah!" she exclaimed "Oh Grace, you are a TIGRESS! But I have never seen that flower patterned shirt before, and honey, it's better that way." Grace looked at Karen, bemused, as Karen made kissing faces and licked her lips.

"Karen, I've been out here for five minutes, you just made out with a throw pillow."


	2. Chapter 2

"So…why are we in Brooklyn again

"So…why are we in Brooklyn again?" Jack grimaced as he surveyed the bustling market stalls, as here, he was literally a queen out of his throne. "Do I have to go through this again?", sighed Will "I thought the play-doh models and flash cards would be clear enough…anyways, we're here to make a very angry complaint to a market stall that took advantage of me!" Jack's face lit up, "Oooo!" he exclaimed!

"Not in the way you think."

"Oh." came the disappointed reply.

Will and Jack continued to trudge through the market, carefully avoiding eye contact with any of the stall-holders, as they were never comfortable with having a melon thrust in each hand by anyone, let alone a Brooklyn fruit-stall owner. They walked for about five minutes more until they finally reached the kitchen supplies stall, which, on first glance, appeared to be without a holder.

"Right, we're here, time to kick some pan-handle ass!" Will smiled wryly as he prepared himself for a metallic influenced showdown.

"Yeah, kick some ass! How's my straight face?" Jack arranged himself into something that was cross between the 'Village People' Policeman and a cactus (rigid, but full of water). Will frowned as he thought "Why didn't I bring Grac…just as bad."

As the two musketeers approached the stall, there was still no sign of an owner, just a bunch of stray pots and pans with no-one to tame them. "Hello?" Will said, quite intrigued by the mystery of the stall holder (who according to Will's memory, was a rather large, loud 50 year old Brooklyn woman whose idea of polite was "I don't take fifties!"). Just then, three things came up, two of them was Jack's eyebrows, but the other was something neither of them had expected. He had dark hair, brown eyes, was in his late-twenties, and his appearance made Jack fall head over heals (I'm talking literally, he tripped over a wonky sidewalk stone and fell head first into a George Forman grill.)

"Karen, for the last time, it was a throw pillow!"

Grace was beginning to tire of Karen. Since their apparent 'intimate moment' (in Karen's words, "Honey, you bounced me right out the window!"), Karen had been constantly licking her lips and cleaning her gun in a very seductive manner.

"Oh, so that's what we're calling it now, well I'm gonna go to the swatch room, and maybe you can throw pillow me in there!"

Grace continued to draw, attempting to ignore Karen, who preceeded to lean over her desk and press her breasts together whilst fluttering her eyelids and sipping her martini.

All of a sudden, the phone rang, but unfortunately, Karen answered. "Lesbian love house of design, how can we help you…"

"Karen, it's 1pm, time for lunch, see you at 5, in fact, take a an extra hour, in fact, take a hundred uppers and I'll see you in two months."


End file.
